One Night of Passion
by SnazzinessRules
Summary: a VERY alternative version of the bus scene in 4.10
1. Chapter 1

**Helloooooo readers - you may have noticed that we have got ourselves our own account! For our first fic under our new names though, we've gone for something non-crazy...well, ok, it isn't silly, but it is possibly crazy and very AU, and you'll see why later, in Ch3!**

**Unfortunately, we don't own Spooks, but seeing as we're not making any money from them either, there's little harm done (we hope)! Besides, Kudos, if you're checking up on us, this whole fic is Nicola Walker's fault! We should explain that she didn't say "please write smut" or even "fic" - we simply shared a joke about this scene (specifically our take on it) which set our imagination well alight! The title also comes from what we spoke about with her. Let's hope she never finds it - poor woman! Sorry Nicola!  
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**To Linda, Lynn and Natalie, who understand.**

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He takes the seat behind her, inhaling her soft scent as it lingers in the air. "Nice night out?"

A soft smile flirts with her lips as she acknowledges him, despite never taking her eyes from the book that is now gripped tightly in her hands. "I thought you were some weirdo."

It's a lie, of course. The feeling of him watching her is something her body recognises almost innately, now. She pretends not to notice, but there is no mistaking the warm tingling which spreads down her spine. Whenever that shiver runs through her, she's guaranteed to catch him just turning his glance away in time.

"I may not be your boss anymore, Ruth," he purrs, just the right side of danger…just the right side of flirting, "but there's no need to be insulting."

There is no response; at least, there is no appropriate response, and so she changes the subject.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"Two months ago, I passed you standing at the bus stop in the pouring rain. I was being driven home. To my eternal shame, and now regret, I didn't stop."

"It's fine," she replies, and it really is fine; she means it. The journey is her place to sit and think. Her quiet sanctuary from which she watches the world pass by below the window. "I like the bus."

A quiet settles over them, just for a moment, but it's long enough. Long enough to absorb the changes which have taken place in these past few months. The changes that are taking place now. It might be strictly business, but this is the first time they've ever met away from work alone, and she knows the implication of that fact hangs unspoken in the air. She could say anything to him; there's nobody around who might care. She could volunteer anything about herself, about their shared interests, about her life after hours, but instead she swallows down her daring and sticks to what she's there to do.

"I have something for you."

Her arm moves to the metal bar along the back of the bus seat, resting subtly. To anyone else, she's stretching out, getting comfortable. Only he knows. This is a game for just the two of them to play.

He reaches out, fingers furling as they brush her palm. It's quite apparent to each of them that he now has what he needs, but he makes no attempt to pull his hand away. Without even thinking, his thumb wraps around the back of her hand and her fingers curl around his in unconscious response. They remain like that for some indefinable moment, only the friction of smooth skin - generated by the vibrating bus - gives the signal that time is still passing, and that everything's real.

Somewhere, in the far recesses of the bus, the sound of someone clearing their throat cuts across their consciouses and the real world filters back in. Behind them, the man with the headphones intrudes on their private moment with the regular _thump thud thump_ of the music's baseline, and even the lights outside the window seem brighter, bolder and more invasive of their space.

Reluctantly, he pulls his hand away, tucking away his precious cargo, and lingering in indecision.

"Thanks. Keep an eye on Adam for me. He's st…"

She turns, abruptly, her shoulders square, and instantly he regrets that they have to end on this note. A part of him wonders if, just like him, she was longing for something more from this briefest of meetings. The feeblest of _thank yous_, genuine though it is, is all he can find to redeem himself. It doesn't feel like it's enough, but there isn't time for anything more.

She hears the bell and knows, without looking, that he's preparing to leave. She closes her eyes for the tiniest instant, a second of mourning for another lost moment between them. As he rises, he finds himself leaning forward and breathing in the scent of her hair. The moment of daring is his undoing and he freezes as the sudden realisation that he might never see her again hits him. The bus is stopping now but he is still upstairs, half in and half out of the seat behind her.

When her eyes open again, she can still sense his presence and she debates whether she should turn around or not. He is still lingering on the top deck as the bus pulls in at the stop; her guess is he's somewhere between the seat and the stairway, and the butterflies that have plagued her ever since he first spoke flutter faster than ever at the knowledge he is still there. With her. She doesn't dare move. Her eyes are glued to the pages of the book in front of her. She's staring so hard that the words are a jumbled mass of black ink and, if she looked closely at her hands, she'd see they were trembling.

The man with the headphones cuts in front of him to get off, and Harry makes his decision to stay, sliding back into his seat. He watches the back of her head, trying to imagine the look on her face right now, and wonders what he will say to her when she questions him. He continues staring at the back of her head, mesmerised by her hair and how some of it flutters in the breeze from a window that's open further down the bus. He calls himself a romantic old fool at the realisation of what he is doing, but doesn't attempt to avert his gaze. His breathing has become noticeably heavier, to him at least; he's not sure if she can tell and he can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

She _can_ tell. She can hear him breathe as he takes his place behind her again, and she chews down the smile that threatens to form when she realises, from his breathy pants, that he might be just as unsure about what he is doing as she is. The knowledge she thinks she has gained gives her a confidence she would never have thought she could possess and, in one move, she shows him that she knows he is there, that she wants him to stay, and that, somehow, everything will be alright.

He's still thinking about his breathing when he sees her move in his peripheral vision. He turns his head to get a better look and watches as she slowly moves her arm along the metal bar across the back of her seat. Her move is an exact replica of the one she made not ten minutes ago, and he has to blink hard to be sure that he's not just replaying the memory of it in his mind. He can't help but reach for her hand and, as his thumb wraps around it and her fingers curl around his again, he knows it's real and that she understands.

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**Please review, there are 3 more chapters xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**By the end of this chapter you might get a sense where this is going, and why we're quite keen to pin the blame on Nicola!**

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"Warming to public transport already?" she questions, warmly, but not without sarcasm. Even without seeing her face, he can picture the exact smile which is forming.

The response is only a quiet chuckle, a brief silence settling in the aftermath.

"I wouldn't have wanted that to be it," he admits, nervously quiet, as he stares at their hands. "If this leave becomes permanent, I'd have to cut myself off from all of you. From you."

"Harry…" she cuts in, trying to stop him before he reveals more than she can bear. The thought of him never returning has been enough to bring her close to tears enough times already; having him voice the possibility as a reality is too much. "You wouldn't have to."

"Given the circumstances, they're unlikely to enjoy the thought of me having tête a têtes with former colleagues."

"That wasn't what I meant," she says, softly.

"Oh," he breathes, as he understands. She doesn't need to explain any further for him to know that she'd leave because of him. For him.

"There aren't many people I'd make that stand for," she whispers, leaving the implication in no uncertain terms that there isn't _anyone_ else she'd do it for.

The bus pings again, and a youth, their only companion, makes his way forward to the stairs. Conversation suddenly stalls, the intimacy of it too personal to be shared with any ears other than their own. It isn't until the bus moves again, and they're sure they're alone upstairs, that they resume their tremblingly tense conversation.

"I don't deserve that," he murmurs, but is voice is somehow louder than before, and a wash of breath on her neck alerts her to the fact that he's leaning forwards, speaking directly into her ear in a manner that's so erotically intimate her breath catches in her throat.

"Don't argue, Harry," she manages to tease, in the softest of voices, despite the seriousness of what they are discussing.

He lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and she feels it against her skin. The hairs at the back of her neck stand to attention and she's sure she's forgotten how to breathe as his free hand sweeps the bulk of her hair to one side. There is a rush of cool air followed by the wash of his warm breath and then she feels his lips brush lightly against the base of her neck. He repeats the move and her fingers tighten against his. Every sense is heightened, until all she can experience is him. She wants to see his face, to look into his eyes and more than anything she wants to feel those soft, plump lips against her own.

She has to swallow twice to find her voice and, when she speaks, the pitch is decidedly altered. "I think you can sit next to me now, Harry." Her words are warm and he hears the invitation in them as well as the acknowledgement that they are well past hiding behind each other.

He kisses her a final time and she's almost certain the very tip of his tongue flirted with her skin. She feels strangely bereft when he removes his hand from hers and she tries to quash the rising panic that he will somehow leave her there.

When he sits next to her, the small seat seems suddenly too big, a gap appearing between them which shouldn't be there, but which both seem to nervous to close. It's clear, now, that he doesn't know quite what to do. He knows what he wants to do, but if his lips meet hers, there's no taking that back, no blaming it on the heat of the moment. This is deliberate.

She senses his indecision and it fuels her own anxiety. She quietly trembles and almost wishes their first kiss away for the nerves it would rid them of, then berating herself for trying to rush the magic. She brushes her hand against his and turns her body, and suddenly the space between them doesn't seem so big; he mirrors her gesture and it seems that only millimetres separate them.

He looks at her and watches as she offers him the smallest of smiles before unconsciously licking her lips. He thinks he will always remember the sound of her breath catching in her throat as he leans forward and brushes his lips, ever so lightly, over hers. He does it repeatedly until she shuffles herself forward and presses their lips more firmly together, signalling to him that she is ready for more. Her lips are soft and warm and he wonders how he ever managed _not_ to kiss her. He sucks her top lip between his teeth before releasing it and tracing his tongue over it until her mouth parts and her tongue ventures out to meet his. He allows the very tip of it to flick against hers as his left hand wanders up into her hair, tangling through the silky, chocolate coloured strands and guiding her mouth firmly onto his.

The kiss seems indefinite, unending and yet over in no time at all as they part for a brief snatch of breath before coming together again. His tongue explores every crevice, every tooth as his mind commits to memory each new sensation, her taste, her touch. His hands dare to reach out, one bracing against her hip and the other gently resting atop her thigh, caressing carefully as he twists his upper body a little towards her. With more power, more hunger, he kisses her again, lips overlapping, teeth clashing, breath snatched, and she sinks back against the seat, drawing him with her.

There isn't much graceful about this anymore; it's beautiful, in its own way, and emotionally delicate, but there is nothing much refined about balancing, one knee on the seat, one foot on the floor, as his body hovers over hers and their kisses deepen and deepen, spiralling in their intensity until somehow there has to be more.

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**Please review. The next chapter will be M rated. xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**And this, yes THIS, is what happens when Nicola utters the phrase: "their one night of passion on that bus." We apologise now!**

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Her hands are no longer content to rest on his back and toy with his hair; she strokes over the material of his shirt, under his jacket, and pulls his body closer against hers. She can feel his arousal as it pushes against the top of her thigh and, on instinct, reaches down between them to touch it. He groans – loudly – and she's thankful for just how deserted the bus is. For a start, she'd be embarrassed to cause such a reaction otherwise, but she also doesn't think she can control herself when he's moaning like that at her touch. She does it again, cupping her hand to him then tracing a teasing pattern with her fingertip. This time, he swears and, despite the obscenity, the breathless word seems like one of the most beautiful she's ever heard and she's filled with a desire to hear him chant it over and over against her ear.

Her hands slowly – too slowly for his liking – unbutton his button and unzip his fly, massaging him lightly through cotton boxers before releasing him from them too. She's not exactly conscious of what it is she's doing; her higher brain seems to be on a time delay and, every time she realises what it is she's just done, she's way past that and her animal instincts are revelling in something sweeter still.

He is struck by the thought that they shouldn't be doing this here and wonders how he can say that without it sounding like he doesn't want this to be happening. He is saved from voicing his thoughts as she takes him into her hand. Her slender fingers are cold as she wraps them firmly around his hardened length and the sensation only adds to his excitement. Her hand moves over him with a delicate precision, the motion is familiar to him but her touch is new and he can't remember a time when he's felt like this. In fact, he's sure he's never felt like this. A passion so raw and consuming that everything else has faded to grey and all that he can focus on is his need to touch her.

His hand fumbles between them until his fingertips rest on her stomach, stroking her skin lightly as he has a momentary debate about his next move. She whispers his name as his hand pushes upwards, under her top. The breeze is cool against her warm skin and she feels goosebumps crawl along her flesh, but whether it is from the cold or from his touch she isn't sure. His fingers reach their goal and he feels her nipple harden through the material of her bra as he massages her breast. He pulls the cup to one side and flicks his thumb over the hardened nub before he decides that it isn't enough and uses his free hand to push her top up and out of the way, bunching the material of the vest as her jacket falls open. His removes his hand and she mewls a low protest which turns into a guttural moan when he bows down awkwardly and replaces his fingers with his mouth.

His tongue is like electric; tiny tingles flow out through her skin wherever he touches her, and a jolt of pure energised pleasure shoots right through the centre of her as he parts his lips and sucks the peak, long and hard. Her hand, long since stilled by the shock and ecstasy of what he is doing to her, moves to claw at his back whilst the other fingers the curls at the top of his bended neck. When he releases her, his attentions soften to delicate kisses before intensifying once more; a pinch of flesh, the roll of his tongue around her nipple and the pull of his lips as he flicks against her hardened bud, before breaking away completely and leaving her bereft.

He replaces his thumb, brushing it over her breast as he kisses her, hard, and his other hand reaches down to her thigh, gathering up fold after fold of material until her skirt is bunched up tightly and an expanse of skin is revealed. He wishes that they were anywhere but here, and that he could know her intimately - how she tastes, how she feels on his lips - and, for a moment, he considers forgetting where they are and dropping to his knees in front of her, but he knows they're already playing a dangerous enough game. Instead, he pushes his fingers underneath the damp cotton and groans loudly at how wet she is as his fingers are coated with her juices. He slides them inside her, making sure she is ready, and her moans of encouragement are all he needs as he holds the material aside and teases her with his erection, running the tip across her swollen sex and nudging at her opening before burying himself inside her.

He stills, allowing her the luxury of feeling him, getting used to him insider her, and taking a moment to find his own balance on this precarious perch. She is half sitting, half reclined in the corner of the seat, head between the metal bar and window, one leg wrapped around his standing leg and the other trapped between his knee and the back of the seat.

The shift of her hips is all he needs before he withdraws and then thrusts back inside her with as much force as he can manage in this position. They definitely shouldn't be doing this here and the knowledge that the sleeping conductor could rouse and find them at any moment only fuels their passion. There is nothing delicate about their coupling; she meets him thrust for thrust bracing herself against the seat and the window. He pushes back into her, his hard length grazing her clitoris as he moves and she can't help the moan that escapes. He kisses her and swallows the incoherent moans she is making as he picks up the pace. He knows her orgasm is close and the tell tale tingling in the base of his shaft indicates his own isn't far behind.

She needs to reach out; to grasp and pull and clutch at something and she stretches her back into a high arch, and her hand flies upwards, waywardly fumbling for anything to hold onto. Her wrist twists, her palm colliding with wet, cold glass and she braces against it as she throws herself back and pushes up to him. It slides down the window pane, squeaking almost intrusively and leaving a telltale trail as her breath forces its way from her mouth in small, shaky pants. Everything except the feeling running through her core fades to black, and she seems to shatter into a million pieces as she contracts tightly around the solid length inside her.

The pulses inside her are still twitching as he pushes into her again, and an animal sound in his throat is suppressed to merely a rumble of noise. A final time and he knows that that will be it; she can tell, too, by the look on his face, and their mouths meet in an instinctive kiss, swallowing his cries as spills inside her.

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**Please don't kill us, we were (kind of sort of almost not at all) made to do it, lol! xx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you, Honest Reviewer, for your points which we would like to address – we would have done so personally had you had the courage to log in as yourself or leave an address, but as it is this is our only outlet to do so. We have made those comments at the end so that other people need not have to wade through them.**

**Once again, need we point out before this starts, it is based on a joke shared with Nicola Walker!**

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There is something utterly absurd about the fact that they're sitting side by side again, fingers vaguely intertwined, as if nothing has just happened and he's only just moved forward from the seat behind. The only thing that tells her it was real is that she can feel the affect he's had on her; her legs are not entirely steady, she's blissfully tired and there's an empty ache where she still feels the last of him inside her.

She knows that one of them is going to have to get up and leave. They've been on the bus for so long that she has no clue how far past her stop they have gone and, as much as she would like to stay and hold his hand all night, she knows they can't.

She's not naive enough to think that they won't be keeping watch on her house, especially when it's noted that Harry has slipped through their net.

His fingers have been stroking against hers lightly but his movements stop as she sighs heavily. She can feel his gaze on her but doesn't dare face him as she speaks for fear that her resolve will melt if she meets his eyes. "You should go now, Harry."

"No, I shouldn't," he growls, low in his throat, hoping that the gravelly sound will mask the hurt.

"We can't stay here all night Harry," she whispers, finally giving in and looking at him. "As much as I'd like to."

Her words provide him with some relief but he is still reluctant to agree with her. Rationally, he knows she is right but that doesn't mean that he's going to go along with it. Somewhere along the way, he has realised that everything he needs and wants in his life is sitting right next to him. For the first time since being forced off the Grid, he doesn't care about if he goes back or not.

"A bit longer then," he's pleading with her and her heart melts at the look on his face.

She reaches her free hand up to cup his cheek and leans across to kiss him softly before pulling herself free and standing up; if he won't go, then she will. She's pressed the bell before he can stop her and the sadness in his eyes is almost unbearable.

--

He's good at what he does; better than she's ever realised. When she alights the bus in a strange, dark, rainy place, the shiver of fear which should run through her when a shadow joins hers in the streetlight never materialises. She knows it is him, despite being convinced he had not followed her.

"I don't think you know where you are," he whispers, and she turns around to face him, suddenly angry.

"No, I don't think you know where _you_ are," she snaps. "For Christ's sake Harry, being seen with me could be the end of all this; _all_ of this."

For once, he has nothing to say. He simply stands there, lost in every sense.

"I'm sorry," she whispers and, for the first time, he realises it isn't rain, but tears on her face. "I'm sorry."

"I think what I'm trying to tell you, is you're worth the risk," he finally volunteers.

She shakes her head. "Nothing's worth that. You're too important. People need you…more than I do."

"We shouldn't always have to be so selfless," he whispers.

"I know you know that's not true. If we aren't selfless in this job, then what's left?"

"What do we have if we _are_ selfless? I'm fed up of being my job, Ruth."

"I didn't mean what do us two have left, Harry. I meant every single one of us and you know it. When we signed that act, we took on that responsibility; don't throw yours away on a whim on a cold, wet night."

"Is that what you think this is?" he asks, dangerously low as he closes the gap between them and grasps her arms, "A whim?"

"Harry..."

"What happened on that bus wasn't just a meaningless _fuck_." His anger is palpable but she is far from being afraid. "Not to me, anyway," he finishes, quietly, and loosens his grip slightly.

She's still crying and her voice is broken when she speaks. "It wasn't to me, either, but I love you too much to see you throw away everything you've worked so hard for."

"You love me?"

"Did you listen to anything else I said?" He is unsure whether she is pleading or chastising, but it is clear she is still uncomfortable at having this kind of conversation with him.

"I'm walking you home," he announces, ignoring the admonishment and the fresh protests that follow. His finger finds its way to her lip and she falls silent despite having more to say. "I'll make sure we're not seen, I promise. Just let me hold your hand a bit longer; I need to know what I'm fighting for."

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When they arrive on a street corner, three blocks from her house, the strength she had in her to say goodbye seems vastly diminished. Instead, she stops walking, confident it will somehow hurt less if she doesn't have to say it. She is soaked to the skin – they both are – but that isn't why she shivers as he looks at her.

"You're going to make me leave, now," he states.

She only nods in reply.

"I love you," he whispers; it's only taken him a mile and a half to say it.

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him softly. "But you still have to leave."

"This won't be it?" he asks. It is unusual in itself that he needs reassurance, but the vulnerability in his voice is all together startling.

"This will never just be it," she assures. "Just be patient," she sighs against his lips. "We just have to be patient."

He parts his lips a little, his tongue encouraging her to do the same, and she responds. It's brief, but intense, full of promises which cannot be delivered yet.

"Get home safely," he whispers. "You never know what weirdos you might meet."

She laughs, lightly. "Go home via the park and look left. I'll flick my bedroom light when I get in."

"Been brushing up on your espionage skills," he comments, amused, but a silence lingers afterwards which silently thanks her for deciding to let him know she's safe.

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispers, her hand briefly touching his, before she turns on her heel and leaves while she has the will to.

He waits until she's out of sight before heading for the park, sitting himself on a wet bench, its blue paint flaking.

It takes 5 minutes, but a light across the way flicks on, off and back on, and he smiles, standing to leave. It is only when it continues that he stands still.

She switches it off quicker this time, and again, and then a final time, this time the same length as the first. X. He smiles and closes his eyes once her house is dark again. Pressing his fingers to his lips, he blows a kiss in return and finally makes his way home.

--

She hears the pod doors open and looks up to find him standing just the other side of them. Her heart races as she sees him and she takes what she's sure is her first proper breath since he left. He's back where he belongs and everything is right with her world again.

"It's good to have you back," she says and he focuses his sole attention on her.

There's a definite twinkle in his eye as he replies, "It's good to be back." He wants to march over to her desk, pull her roughly from her chair and plant his lips on hers but he's far too aware of the CCTV cameras to make a move. Instead, he goes through the motions of what he supposes he should be saying. "I'd better get up to speed. Lots of files to read. I wouldn't want to miss anything." He turns and takes a step to his office, before quickly turning back to her. "Don't work too late."

"I won't," she can feel the butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she dares herself to speak, "I'll get the last bus home."

The smile on her face is delicious and he's no longer bothered about propriety or eavesdropping colleagues. "If that is a hint, you'll be sorely disappointed, Miss Evershed."

"Oh." Her face falls and she takes a sudden interest in her desk, not wanting to him to see that she's close to tears.

"It's a bed or nothing this time."

Her head snaps up to find that he has moved silently closer to her and is now stood in front of her desk, a flirtatious smile playing about his lips.

"You'd better give me a lift home then."

**Thanks guys for your reviews and for appreciating this as what it is. Please leave a final review xx**

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**Unless you are "An Honest Reviewer", feel free to skip this:**

**Point 1 - Harry had already gone off radar by then and wasn't being followed at that point. If he was, he wouldn't be on the bus passing the memory stick.**

**Point 2 - It isn't written as meaningless sex - there is actual real feeling and sentiment there if you actually open your eyes and read it.**

**Point 3 – So in any other fic, it's ok for them to **_**suddenly**_** realise and act on feelings, is it? Other Pea fics; **_**Cancun**_**, **_**Desk**_**? **_**Late Night Call **_**and any other 4.5 challenge fics? **_**Blackpool**_**? **_**The Date**_**? **_**The Manny**_**? **_**Just Desserts**_**? If you are as au fait with Spooks as you claim, then you will know the whole key to their relationship is the tension which has bubbled between them since Series 2. That has to be realised at some point or another, and the ways in which that can, and have, happened are endless, and these good fics utilise that tension to get to a quick realisation and display of feelings.**

**Point 4 – The point is made clear that they know the risks and have eliminated as many as possible, not "oh, this is harmless". They know it isn't safe and that is made obvious but the point of the fic was not a logistical exercise in "how not to get caught on a bus".**

"**Your**** writing is usually very accurate to the storyline of the series, Spooks, and your character analysis is generally superb" – thank you, but honestly, you can deal with Harry eating jelly off Ruth in a club in front of everyone, you can deal with them sharing innuendo under a desk and going home for sex, and you can believe that she accidentally flashes her underwear leading to them having oral sex, and you can believe they have sex in the woods, but not this? Yes, we do try and keep the characters true and the situations whacky, but so far I don't think we've ever claimed a fic is anything but crazy nonsense.**

**Also, why now? Why wait so long and yet not wait for one more chapter until it is finished? Did our forum post prompt this? Yes, we asked for constructive criticism, but this is simply a list of reasons you don't like it.**

**Finally, we would just like to say, had you read ANY of our preamble, you would see that this was not a serious fic, set in the cannon of Spooks, but a fic based on a JOKE made by Nicola Walker about Ruth and Harry having sex on a bus. We have, on three occasions, cleared stated it is "crazy" "VERY alternative" and "very AU".**

**Consider thinking about your honest reviews before posting them. If you truly had valid points to make, we would not be so easily able to counter argue each and every one of yours.**


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